Chords of Tadhana

Chapter 3: The Sound Before the Silence

Aaron Matthews had always known that music was a part of him. It wasn't something he had discovered overnight, or something that had been passed down like a family heirloom. It was simply there, deep in his bones, waiting for the right moment to burst out.

Growing up in a small house in Makati, music was a constant companion, even if it wasn't always the focus. His mother would sing as she moved around the kitchen, humming old folk songs or songs from her favorite OPM (Original Pinoy Music) artists, like Eraserheads or Rivermaya. His father, on the other hand, was more of a quiet man, but on Sundays, when they gathered in the living room, he'd pull out his old guitar—worn at the edges, but still functional—and strum a few chords. The sound of that guitar was almost sacred in their household, a reminder of simpler times, of days when life felt lighter, filled with laughter and music instead of the weight of responsibilities.

It was on one of those Sundays that Aaron first found his love for music. He was just six years old, watching his father play, his small hands itching to try the instrument himself. The guitar felt awkward at first, too big for his fingers, the strings harsh and unforgiving. But as his father patiently showed him how to form the chords, something clicked. There was a rhythm to it, a way the music made sense even when the world around him was confusing.

He kept at it, learning in secret at first, then slowly starting to play in front of his family. His mother had always been supportive, her encouragement constant, but it was his father's approval that he sought the most. When he played something right, when the chords sounded just as they should, his father would look at him and nod, as if acknowledging something important.

By the time he was in high school, Aaron's love for music had deepened. He started writing his own songs—simple, heartfelt lyrics about things he didn't fully understand yet but felt deeply. He'd spend hours alone in his room, strumming his guitar, creating melodies that felt like they were coming from a place far beyond him. It was a way for him to communicate his thoughts and feelings, especially when words failed him. Music became his escape, a way to express what was too hard to say.

But it wasn't until his junior year of high school that he really began to think about what it meant to share his music with the world. He had a small group of friends who were into OPM, always talking about their favorite bands and singing along to the latest songs on the radio. One evening, they convinced him to bring his guitar to a small get-together. The crowd was small, just a handful of people, but it was enough. Aaron played a few of his own songs, nervous at first, but as the night went on, he saw their faces light up. They were hearing his music—and for the first time, it wasn't just for him. It was for someone else.

That night changed everything for him. It was the first time he truly understood the power of music to connect people. And from then on, he made it his mission to continue playing and writing, to share his voice with others. He started performing at school events, then moved on to small gigs in local bars around Manila, slowly building up a name for himself. It wasn't fame he was after; it was the simple joy of sharing something that came from deep inside.

As for Emily, her story with music had started in a completely different way, but it too began with the love of a simple sound. Unlike Aaron, she wasn't raised in a home filled with music. It wasn't as though her family didn't appreciate it, but it wasn't a daily part of their lives like it was for him. However, the first time she heard her lola (grandmother) sing, everything changed.

Emily was just a little girl, around seven or eight, when she sat beside her grandmother in their old family home in Quezon City. They were in the garden, the sun dipping low in the sky, and the soft breeze of the afternoon swept through the leaves. Her lola, an elegant woman with silver streaks in her hair, had always been a storyteller, but on that day, she picked up her guitar. It wasn't fancy—just an old acoustic that had clearly been played for years—but when her lola started singing, Emily was mesmerized. It was an old kundiman, a song of love and longing that echoed in the air around them. The way her lola's voice rose and fell with the melody, the emotion in every word, captivated Emily. She had heard songs on the radio before, but this was different. This was real. This was something that came from the heart.

Her lola noticed Emily's wide eyes, and she smiled. "You like that, don't you?" she asked gently.

Emily nodded, not able to find the words. She had never felt so moved by a song before, and in that moment, she understood something she hadn't realized until much later. Music had a way of touching something deep within you, a place that words couldn't reach.

From that day on, Emily was hooked. She started learning about music, listening to old OPM classics, reading about singers like Sarah Geronimo, Moira Dela Torre, and even Ben&Ben, who captured emotions she didn't know how to describe. She saved up her allowance to buy her first guitar, which her mother thought was a fleeting interest at first, but it soon became clear that Emily was serious. Her fingers were awkward at first, but slowly, like Aaron, she began to understand the rhythm, the beauty of the chords.

In high school, Emily started to write her own songs, though she kept them mostly to herself. She didn't want to be like Aaron, sharing her music with the world—it was too vulnerable for her. But her songs filled her journals, and the music became her escape from the everyday worries of school and growing up. She found solace in the quiet moments when she could pick up her guitar, the sound of the strings soothing the chaos in her mind.

It was only when she started her blog, a small corner of the internet where she shared her love for Filipino music, that her passion started to take shape. She wrote about everything—from OPM classics to up-and-coming artists, always searching for songs that spoke to her in a way that she couldn't express herself. She reviewed songs, wrote about her favorite performances, and even shared snippets of her own music, though only a few people had ever seen them.

For Aaron and Emily, music had always been a part of them, even when they didn't realize it. Aaron had found a way to share his passion with the world, and Emily had kept hers close to her heart, until the day their paths finally crossed. Both of them, in their own way, were drawn to the same thing: the power of music to express what words alone couldn't.

And in that shared love for music, perhaps they would find more than just the comfort of familiar songs. Perhaps they would find something deeper—the connection between two people who had always been moved by the same melodies, even when they were too afraid to say it.